


Smoke + Mirrors

by Aimryax



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, During Canon, Fluff, M/M, Sexual innuendos, Trans!Soap, i mean its like two lines because soaps a massive himbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 16:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21148832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimryax/pseuds/Aimryax
Summary: Oddly; bandages, smoking and a little hint of softness can be just the perfect painkiller.Who could’ve known?//Smoke and Mirrors - Imagine Dragons.





	Smoke + Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning up drafts + highly self indulgent Jori for me whenever I’m down.
> 
> As always thanks for @llanxeotis for the beta/proofread.

“_I fucking hate this._”

He honestly did.

Injuries and the Captain mixed together as good as oil and water—which is absolutely _not_. 

Recovery wasn’t Soap’s exactly cup of tea either, with both of his limbs aching for movement, to get back into the fight and strike again; but they also ached out of the actual basic human reaction to a foreign object penetrating his body forcefully.

_Should he have been more specific with the latter?_

“I know you do.”

For fuck’s sake. Soap groaned very audibly at the accented voice above him, constantly reminding him that his whining was heard loud and clear by his current company, who happened to also penetrate Soap with a foreign object; even his body recalls the intense _burn _of the injection at the memory.

_He should have been really specific about that._

Soap let him head roll back on Yuri’s semi-crossed legs that were rather generously propped up for Soap to rest on.

Yuri continued, “You can go on.”

Soap huffed lightly at the proper acknowledgment of his agony; letting his arm lazily bring the cigar back to his lips, sluggish movement from the unholy amount of medications Soap must take on daily basis...and maybe from his own fault for exhausting himself with thinking.

Bandages wrapped around stitches where hair would shamefully not grow back, where Soap had to work for that with blood, sweat and tears. It was still painful to breath at times but he can manage.

He took a drag, the taste hitting his tasteless tongue. It felt good and different. Soap isn’t allowed to do that, but again, neither was he allowed to do most of the things he does.

Exhaling the smoke slowly, the smell hit him and let his aching body relax in a familiar atmosphere. _Classic_.

“I don’t think you should be doing that.” Soap’s icy-coloured eyes went up to meet up with the voice; with grey eyes that routinely followed the text on a Russian report. Yuri had a strange habit of preferring floors than chairs.

Soap would say it’s uncomfortable and not worth it, but that would make him a liar as the rest of his body sprawled on the safe-house’s floor with a head on Yuri’s leg.

“_Oi_, right back at you.” Soap managed to say out, there was a retort somewhere on his mind that would make Yuri look at him silently before dismissing—but goddamn the fucking painkillers left him in an almost-dazed state.

However, the sound of paper being put down and slight shifting from the leg he rested on—a good leg under the pants texture, if he may say so for himself—perked his hazy attention span.

“_Oh?_”

Grey eyes focused on him but with a specific glint, sharp features that were highlighted by the high sun of the morning alongside the black stripes that receded on his face—looked on him with interest, and dare he say, anticipation.

“Well, do _tell._”

The passive question was accompanied by Yuri snatching the cigar out of Soap’s fingers, almost mockingly.

Yuri’s voice was definitely laced with mischief, he’s playing.

Two can play this game.

Soap grumbled, “Well, you shouldn’t be allowed to be this bloody handsome that’s for fucking sure.” 

Or not.

Was it the painkillers or his dick speaking? Because that was very _bad_. Soap visibly winced at his own reply the second it left his mouth; maybe Yuri can take it as sarcasm, he wishes Yuri would take it as sarcasm.

But to Soap’s surprise, instead of disapproval, he was met with a snort that was barely held back—and a smile from Yuri, not a smug one but genuine, he looked like an entirely different person.

“That is the most _fucking_ cliché thing I have heard coming out from your mouth.”

_And_ an English swear, holy shit.

He managed to savour every second of it as it lasted; as that smile quickly faded back to the usual unreadable face with a cough, inked hands picked up the reports again and resumed reading as if it nothing happened.

Whatever makes Yuri sleep at night.

Oh he wished so much to say something about that unintentional slip, but he was drowsy as shit.

“It worked at least.” Soap mumbled with a light shrug of his shoulders, as he reclaimed the cigar again; a bit bashfully for his own taste though with averting eyes.

Yuri hummed, but with a lingering touch of their fingers coming to contact, said hand rested on Soap’s shoulder, acting as a wordless “_perhaps_.”

The inked hand prompted Soap to relax again, as it subtly brushed against scarred skin every once in a while in a soft manner that soothed off the constant tension, maybe even luring him to let his mind at ease in this mess.

He took one long drag of the cigar, savouring every flavour of it as he let his body slump again; eyes closing in serenity.

_Soap fucking hates this._

But Yuri makes it somewhat bearable in a way.


End file.
